


feels like i could use a gun

by junkiebeannie



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Flirting, M/M, McDonald’s Employee Peter, Robber Wade Wilson, Sassy Peter, Sassy Wade, Size Kink, unscarred wade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkiebeannie/pseuds/junkiebeannie
Summary: Peter hates his job at McDonald’s, and he hates getting robbed. Except this particularly robber will not stop flirting and maybe Peter flirts back.





	1. you’ve been all around town

**Author's Note:**

> the whole “job #1-3” thing is def inspired by Crockzilla’s fic “In the Good Old Summertime” which makes me vv gay. also the multiple job thing is the most in-character Peter thing in a no powers AU i can think of

What if, Peter thought, this is the closest I get to a career in biochemistry?

“Will that be all tonight, sir?” he said in his most chipper voice. The heavy, red-faced man (who was wearing a fucking Trump shirt — gag) nodded, and Peter finished ringing him up. He looked at his cheap watch (bad idea) and saw that he still had four fucking hours of ringing up the random people that decided a visit to McDonald’s after 9pm was suitable.

Yep, Peter had gotten that shift. 

9pm to 5am at the 24-hour Mickey Dee’s a few subway stops away from his house. It was his Job #2, and the graveyard shift allowed him to put in noon to 8pm shift at the mall kiosk that was Job #3. 

Job #1, unfortunately, was not actually a job. But it was the closest thing to what he actually wanted to do, and tried not to dwell on the fact that it was an unpaid internship by legitimizing it with the title of Job #1. He was only a lab assistant, but he loved Job #1. 

Oh, on top of graduate school. 

So, Peter was not looking forward to the final four hours that seemed to stretch in front of him. It shouldn’t be too bad, he decided. Hell, it was nearly 1:30am, in a sketchy part of the city, so he doubted too many patrons would flood the store. 

It was just him and his favorite co-worker, MJ, tonight. She was the one who got him this job, and they went all the way back to high school.

Soon the restaurant was empty except a junkie who sat at the counter. Technically, even paying customer weren’t allowed to stay longer than thirty minutes, but neither Peter nor MJ had the heart to throw him out into the dark city night. 

“Hey,” MJ said, sitting next to him where he had slumped into a folding chair in the back, “I’m going out for a smoke. Don’t fuck up,” 

Peter smiled up from his phone and stuck his tongue out at her. She chuckled slightly, and ducked out the back door. 

He fucked around on various social media for a hot minute, and was considering the pros and cons of napping when the bell above the door rang softly. 

He scurried to his feet. In an empty store, he didn’t give a fuck, but if a customer complained that he wasn’t at attention, he couldlose Job #2.

He got behind the counter and looked up. 

Fuck. 

The first thing he saw was the gun, obviously, pointed right at him. The second thing he noted was the mask the guy was wearing. It reminded him faintly of a superhero’s mask, black and red and spandex-y, with wide, white eyes. 

The third thing he realized was that this guy was big. He had large, muscled shoulders hiding behind a dark hoodie, and certainly towered over Peter. Even the counter, acting as a barrier, did nothing to hide his size. If not for the circumstances, he would’ve flirted. He lowkey had a size kink, whatever.

Oh yeah! Except it was now 2am and there was a gun pointed at Peter’s fucking head at his shitty Job #2, so no flirting. 

So, instead of fear or flirtiness thrumming through his veins, he felt only mild annoyance sizzling in his belly. Maybe he was too exhausted for anger.

“Listen, sweetheart,” the robber (he assumed) said.

Peter noticed the junkie had run out of the store. 

“I just want the cash register’s money, and maybe your number, and I’ll be on my merry way to the nearest taco truck. Capiche?” There was a certain tilt to his voice that Peter could not place his finger on. 

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Peter had been mugged before (it was New York and he was small), but he never had an attacker that seemed so... silly? Flirty? Potentially devastatingly hot (inferred by the low growl of his voice)? 

Inappropriate thoughts, he reminded himself, you’re mad, remember?

“You can fucking take it,” he spat out, surprised at the venom in his voice. Okay, maybe not too exhausted for anger. The robber seemed surprised too, and Peter could see his eyebrows raising under the mask. 

“I’ll take whatever you give me, baby,” he responded, his voice too sultry for this kind of business. 

Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Can you please put the gun down? Don’t put it away though - my manager will fire me unless it looks like I almost died defending McDonald’s.” 

At this, the robber let out a loud laugh. He threw his head back, and Peter caught a glimpse of the tanned skin of his neck. Another indicator of potential hotness. 

“So,” the thief drawled out, “you’re undeniably sexy, infuriatingly sassy, and fucking hilarious?” He let out a low whistle, and something in Peter tensed. Not in a bad way. In fact, he felt a small smile tug at his lips. He was not going to die tonight, he knew that, and he was not going to get hurt. The stranger had already lowered the gun, so it rested on the counter, still in the view of the security camera. How considerate. 

“Are you going to take the money or keep wasting time so you can flirt with me in handcuffs?” Peter asked, deadpanned. 

The robber laughed again, a little darker. “Usually I don't talk about kinks until at least the third date,” he murmured, “but I’ll make an exception for an exceptional McDonald’s employee.”

Peter pursed his lips, “You think that I’m only an exceptional McDonald’s employee?”

The robber tilted his head a little, and gestured for Peter to continue.

“I have three jobs,” he started, “a mall kiosk selling pillows, this joint, and an internship in biochemistry. I am currently attending university to finish up my Master’s degree in biochemistry. I’m a lot more than these bullshit yellow arches, so don’t underestimate me.”

“That’s just a problem in your personal philosophy, baby boy! Work smarter, not harder,” was all the robber said. 

“Sorry that I’m not just oh-so willing to rob a McDonald’s in the middle of the night. At least I can go to sleep not worrying about NYPD busting down my door,” Peter crossed his arms defiantly. 

“And morally righteous!” the robber laughed out. “If you ever want to join this gig, you could just really focus on - what was it? Biochemistry? I need a new mastermind - Yellow and White are half useless.” 

Peter wrinkled his brow in confusion, but their conversation was loudly interrupted by the screech of sirens. 

Shit. 

“Shit!” the robber shouted. “Who the fuck called the cops?” 

The junkie definitely didn’t have a cell phone, but… 

“MJ!” 

The thief looked at him, and snarled, “Who?” 

“My coworker,” Peter answered, “she was out having a smoke break! She must’ve called them!” 

The robber groaned. 

“I was having fun, too!” he literally whined, “But now I have to be mean.” 

The gun was back in his hand, and back in Peter’s face. 

“Out from behind the counter, baby boy,” he commanded. Peter sighed, but obeyed. What else was he supposed to do? 

The robber turned Peter around to face the door, and grunted, “Hands behind your head.” Then, using one of his gloved hands, he pushed Peter’s shoulder until he was kneeling on the floor. 

“Stay still, baby boy,” the thief said, and Peter could hear him clanging around the cash register. He felt so exposed, and embarrassed, sitting like this. Why the fuck was he flirting with a goddamn robber? Dumbass. 

The robber finished, and he now held a brown McDonald’s bag filled with cash. He stood next to Peter, and smiled down at him. 

“This was so much fun,” he smirked. 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Peter growled, and he spat right on the robber’s boot. 

He felt the gun tap his chin, forcing him to look up. 

The red spandex of his mask was pulled up, and there were a pair of very pink and very plump lips settling into a smirk. 

Dick-sucking lips, MJ would’ve said. 

“Well, baby boy,” the robber said, “I think you’re my dream guy.”

Something about the way he was forced onto his knees, and the gun on his chin, and looking up at this really hot guy (basically fact at this point), made a red-hot blush blossom across his cheeks. The dick-sucking lips curled into an incredibly arousing smirk at the sight. 

“I wish I could say the same to you,” he responded, his voice less annoyed and definitely more flirty, “but criminal behavior is kind of a turn off.”

The robber smiled very widely. The sirens sounded closer. 

“This was the fucking highlight of my week, baby boy,” he murmured, gun still caressing Peter’s chin, who should not be getting turned on by this! 

The sirens were really, really, close now, so the robber took away the gun, jostled his bag, and began to walk out. Peter was left on the floor, watching as he left. 

“Baby boy,” he turned around at the door. “What mall is that pillow kiosk at?” 

Peter smiled.  



	2. livin’ it up, shootin’ down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all sososo much for the positive feedback! it was going to be a one-shot, but i decided to add a couple chapters :)

Peter wondered how long he would have to tap his foot to break it. 

This was the easiest job — no intense scientific procedures, no burning heat of a kitchen — and therefore the most boring. Unsurprisingly, not many people were interested in bamboo pillows. Mostly, Peter circled the kiosk holding a pillow. He usually sold one a day. 

So, after seven hours and not a single pillow sold, he was about to lose his goddamn mind. 

The mall had quieted down, and it was mostly empty at 7:30pm on a Tuesday. That meant minimal people, but no noise to distract him from the constant loop of the same fifteen fucking pop songs. 

Peter had no qualms about pop music. He could turn down to just about anything you would throw at him. But, when it was the same dozen songs, on repeat, for seven and a half hours — 

Everybody has a breaking point. 

In moments like these, Peter’s mind loved to wander away from minimum-wage monotony, and fantasize. 

What was Peter fantasizing about, today? 

Definitely not a big, buff, robber with plump lips, a wisecrack attitude, and a propensity for compliments. It wasn’t Peter’s fault! This was probably just due to the trauma. Or something. 

Oh, and when MJ had seen the security footage, she had used the term ‘dick-sucking lips’. 

And she unfairly accused him of flirting with the robber instead of actually calling for help. Peter had claimed that he was only doing what he needed to survive! What if he rejected the guy’s advances, and he freaked out? He had seemed a little unstable. 

A little unstable, yes, but undeniably hot. 

That night (or morning, he supposed) when he finally got home after the police and managers came, he had laid in bed and thought about the hot robber. And the thoughts of him overpowering Peter, covering him completely…

Maybe Peter masturbated to thoughts of the robber. Whatever. Trauma, remember? Not his fault that the gunman had to be really hot and really flirty. 

Yeah, he needed to get laid. Maybe the brunette at the university gym. He was pretty and flirty enough. What was his name? Harvey? Henry? No, Harry. 

“So, what’s so special about these pillows?” 

Peter turned around — slightly excited at the break in monotony — already beginning the spiel about bamboo-comfort or some shit, but stopped dead in his tracks. 

Let’s just say Peter would let this guy bend him over and fuck him over said bamboo pillows in a heartbeat. And it would probably be a better fuck than Harry from the gym could ever give. 

He was extremely broad-shouldered, and towered over Peter. His face itself was seemingly cut from stone, with a strong brow and a stronger jawline. A jagged, white scar cut through one of his eyebrows. His brown eyes looked Peter up and down, and he slightly flushed from the attention. He raised an eyebrow, and Peter realized that he had been gaping at the man. 

He cleared his throat, and began his sales pitch. He had to make at least one sale today. 

“Well, sir,” he started, certainly noticing the way the man bit his lip at the term, “the pillow maintains its form throughout the night, and doesn’t need to be fluffed like traditional down pillows. The foam is also hypoallergenic, and provides perfect orthopedic support. The interlocking foam pieces create a unique breathability that keeps your pillow nice and cold throughout the night.” The memorizes spiel felt like muscle memory more than anything else, and Peter allowed his thoughts to focus on how hot this guy was.

“It never needs to be fluffed?” the man questioned, admiring a pillow in his hands. 

“Yes, sir,” Peter responded. 

“Even with…” the man side-eyed Peter and smirked, “heavy wear and tear?” 

Okay, Peter could flirt. 

“What kind of wear and tear?” he asked innocently, cocking his head. 

The man’s smile widened, and he moved closer to Peter. Fuck, this guy was big. Very hot. 

“Well,” he murmured, “the usual friction, caused by certain things.” 

Peter looked up at him and bit his lip. 

“Never needs to be fluffed. Money back guarantee. Well, not really.” The man laughed at that, and Peter allowed a wide smile to cross his face. This was the closest he was to a date since… did the robber count? 

“What's your name?” the man stuck his hand out. 

“Peter,” he said, shaking said hand. His hand was calloused, and he could feel the strength that thrummed through the man.

“This just your day job, Petey? I have to say, you do excel at selling pillows.” the man purred. 

“Something like that,” Peter answered. He definitely tried the ‘look up through your lashes’ thing. He liked to think it worked. 

“Where else do you work?” the man asked, but there was some sort of mischievous glint in his eye. Was he teasing Peter? Peter knew his jobs weren’t glamorous, but there was no shame in minimum wage work. Someone needed to do it.

“I’m in graduate school, but I also have an internship and work at McDonald’s,” Peter responded evenly, “All about that grind, am I right?” Let’s do a different kind of grind. 

“Sounds horribly exhausting,” he commented, “Anything exciting at all?” 

Peter laughed slightly, appreciating the irony that for once, there was something exciting. 

“Last week, actually, I got robbed at McDonald’s.”

His mouth opened into a perfect ‘o’, and Peter couldn’t help the thought of dick-sucking lips crossing his mind. Wait — 

“That’s awful! You okay?” That mocking tone, the glint in his eyes again. 

“Well,” Peter said. “I almost lost my job because of it.” This was weird. 

See his reaction. 

Genuine curiosity crossed the man’s face, and he asked, “Why is that?” 

Peter stared right up into the emotion-filled brown eyes. “They watched the security footage, said I was too ‘friendly’ with the robber or some shit. My coworker had the audacity to say I was flirting with him.” 

The man’s face screwed up in intense amusement. 

“Were you?” he questioned, and Peter noticed how his eyes flashed down to his lips. 

“What did you say your name was, again?” Peter asked. 

The man gave a wide grin. 

“I didn’t.”

Peter felt tension thrum through his body, his hands clenching.

“What are you studying in graduate school?” 

“Biochemistry,” he answered immediately. 

“And what lab is that internship at?” 

“Stark Industries.” 

The man shifted closer to Peter, and he felt the nearly-empty mall fall from around them. His eyes flashed between the brown eyes and the pink lips, and holy shit he was hot. 

The man’s hand reached up and brushed away one of Peter’s curls that had fallen in his face. Peter held his breath. 

“Recently,” the man murmured, and his hand did not move from Peter’s cheek as his eyes flashed between eyes and lips, “I’ve just been so interested in biomedicine.” 

“Biochemistry,” Peter corrected. 

The man’s eyes flashed. 

“Thanks for the pillow, baby boy,” and his hand dropped to slide a twenty dollar bill onto the kiosk. 

Peter felt like his heart dropped through the floor, but the man was already walking away. 

“Wait!” he shouted, and began to follow the man. 

The man turned around, grabbed Peter’s collar, and pulled him into a side hallway that led to a few restrooms. 

Then his mouth was on Peter’s and holy shit. 

He pushed Peter up against the wall, the kiss turning more and more intense. Then, he pulled away. 

“You were the highlight of my fucking week. Catch ya later!” 

And the man was gone, and Peter could only touch his tingling lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this was kind of rushed but i wanted to get it up asap. don’t like it as much as the first chapter but whatevs

**Author's Note:**

> why am i in love with criminal!Wade and hapless bystander!Peter


End file.
